


shipbuilding

by volefriend



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Bed sharing but it's more like really uncomfortable ill-advised cot sharing, Other, Spoilers up until the end of PZN 23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volefriend/pseuds/volefriend
Summary: “So what about the ship?”“What about it?”“I promised you I’d get it for you,” Valence says, and they find themself clenching their hands into fists, on impulse. “So what do you want it to be like?”
Relationships: Kal'mera Broun/Valence
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	shipbuilding

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers up until the end of PZN 23.** This takes place during that month timeskip at the end. 
> 
> Anyway I thought real hard about the fact that Valence would've left the Kingdom if the elections hadn't happened, and also how they were willing to show everyone the image of the fleet being destroyed by their God if it wouldn't kill people, and also I too have caught the Broun/Valence brainworms and this happened. I apologize. I _think_ I remember Valence does something akin to sleeping? Let's pretend they do.
> 
> I'm @volefriend on twitter if you want more Partizan thoughts and also, other things.

There is a hum to the engine room that Valence has long since grown to ignore. A warmth and a rattle; the sort of thing, they’ve been told, that could put someone to sleep if kept inside too long. Sovereign Immunity had been here earlier, and before the actual topic of their meeting had come up- Valence’s true nature, their gaseous form- he had commented on it, surprised Valence could stay in so long. 

But it’s not as if Valence rests easily, now, even if they’ve moved their allotted cot into this area to save some time. Too much to do. Time was longer, before Fort Icebreaker, when there were empty hours and nothing to fill them with every night. Then they would find themself alone, stretches of time jolted and punctuated by the memory of the white curtain of God, of a fleet being snapped and ruptured out of existence. 

The election had not taken that memory, just pulled slightly away from it. It is always the goal, after all, to move in relation to it, to take it and build a pack from the power of the memory. It only makes sense that there would be moments, when they are asked to look over these fliers Broun made and the various demands and questions scribbled on the back of them now, that the thought of what is ahead would come and take over once again. 

“Do people ever ask you if you get hot in here?”

There’s a moment before Valence’s world clicks back into place. Standing there is Broun, having entered as swiftly and comfortably as if they’d never left earlier today. They take off their jacket, as if to accentuate the statement; it’s a nicer one than they used to wear, Valence realizes. A neat type of overcoat. 

“That’s the first thing they ask, if they don’t come here often,” Valence responds. Broun doesn’t laugh, but grins, and sits casually in the chair on the other side of the desk. The election is over and yet Broun comes multiple times every day, looking through papers, offering advice. They have a light air to them, a different edge than they had just weeks ago. 

“Busy day?”, they ask. 

“Of course,” Valence says, but pauses before continuing. Would Broun think they’d acted too fast? “I showed Sovereign Immunity my...deal. The whole ball of gas part.” 

“Shit. You went for it?” Broun looks up, blinking in surprise. Valence nods in response, and Broun raises an eyebrow. “Did he take it okay?” 

“He...took it.” 

“And that means?” 

“I think he was just surprised.” They sound too tense, they think to themself. “He needed to know. It wouldn’t be right to have an advisor who didn’t.” 

“I guess,” Broun responds, not sounding too enthused. “It’s not like we _know_ him, but- whatever. You’re too nice.” 

They turn back to the fliers. Valence pauses. Is _Broun_ their advisor, too? They didn’t seem to want that sort of job, and yet every day they come back here, acting like they’ll have another campaign to run next week. They _liked_ running it. It had been obvious, the way their mood had improved. 

Well, of course it would. _You could do anything for me,_ they’d said. There was something for them in the deal. 

“You seem happy,” Valence says. There’s tension lost in Broun’s shoulders, something they were carrying for a while, maybe since they last saw K.O., weeks ago. 

Broun looks surprised again, for a moment. Then they look away, shrug. “That communication thing we’re doing, me and Ver’million and that friend of hers, it’s going better than I thought. I thought it’d be harder. And, uh, the Red Fennecs were around. They’re cool.”

“Didn’t we steal from them? And get-“

“And get them in like a shitty part of the war, yeah. But they’re cool.” Broun yawns as they finish talking, leaning back in the chair. 

Maybe they’re not relaxed as much as they’re _tired._ Who isn’t? Valence points toward the cot behind them. “Do you need to...lie down for a bit?” 

“What?” Broun’s head jerks up from the notes in their hand and they squint, nearly standing to look behind Valence. “Wait, Valence, are you sleeping here?” 

“Well- I’m usually here. And I’ve already had a bunch of late meetings.” 

“The election was only two weeks ago. Don’t you feel like you’re- I don’t know, _trapping_ yourself here already?” 

“Broun, there’s a lot to _do_ ,” Valence responds, and their tone comes out more solemn than they wanted it to be. 

Broun sighs, and shifts in the chair, as if weighing options. Valence is about to take it back when they respond and stand up. “Okay. For a minute. There’s no way that’s comfortable. I don’t know if you even need a comfortable cot for your...robot dog body.” 

“Comfortable’s good. I like comfortable,” Valence says, watching Broun sit down on the cot. They bounce a little on the side, awkward, testing it. Broun sucks in a cheek in thought, and Valence finds themself staring at the movement, as if trying to find something. 

_And_ they shouldn’t be staring at Broun. Valence turns away, back to the desk, back to the notes, and they hear a slight _creak_ as Broun lies down. 

The notes blur. There’s some things Jesset said to them when he swung by yesterday, on what Oxblood’s been telling him; supply lists after the latest raid; Sovereign Immunity’s suggestions on responses to people’s demands, not worded quite right to Valence’s taste.

Broun is quiet. Quieter than Valence had thought, as the minutes tick past. There’s a moment where Valence pauses, trying to hear them breathe, as if anyone could over the whir of the machines. 

God, I would’ve left by now, Valence thinks, had this all gone wrong. Instead they’re president, leader, whatever the word for it becomes.

But where would they have left to? And what would these people have left? God’s judgment, and the grip of empire. 

Where does _anyone_ leave to, from here? 

Valence reaches. _Broun?_

_Mm?_

_Where are you going to go when you leave?_

_What?_ “Valence- what are you talking about?” 

Broun sits up, and this must be what people with fleshier bodies feel when they say there’s a weight that’s come over them. Valence hears them before they turn to see them, sitting up on the backs of their arms, shifting to sit up properly. 

“When you have your ship,” Valence responds. “When you...you know, when you can go.” 

“I...” Broun mumbles, rubbing their forehead. Their braids are falling apart. After a moment they sit up completely, moving their hands to their eyes. “Fuck if I know, Valence.” 

“Sorry.”

“That’s not even the point, it’s- the point is getting out of here. Not having to answer to all the bullshit here.” Broun shrugs. “I don’t care where I am as long as I’ve got my own ship and I can leave. Whenever I want.” 

“Right. Yeah,” Valence says. For a second they test their words, roll them around in their mind. “So what about the ship?” 

“What about it?” 

“I promised you I’d get it for you,” Valence says, and they find themself clenching their hands into fists, on impulse. “So what do you want it to be like?” 

Valence had thought a topic like this would get Broun to loosen up, that they’d think of the freedom they’d feel and it would come to their face, give them a toothy grin. But there’s a heaviness to their posture, now, their eyebrows furrowing. 

“Is this- Valence, you’re acting like your first act as _fort leader_ is going to be buying me a spaceship just because I was your campaign manager.” 

“You don’t think the best campaign manager on Fort Icebreaker deserves to get repaid for their work?” 

Broun gets that look on their face, the one that always comes when Valence says something that hits them in a way even Valence didn’t expect. One of their dimples always shows up when they smile like that, when they look away. 

“Come on,” Broun says, “you know that’s not what I mean.” 

“We won the election. You’re the best by default.” 

“ _Stop,_ oh my god.” Broun shakes their head. “What is this _actually_ about? Out of nowhere. Because it’s not- look, I need to _get off,_ but it isn’t like-“ 

“Do you like it here?”, Valence asks, thinking of the bounce in Broun’s step when they’d walked in. 

“It...it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Look, Partizan’s still shit, but at least I can put up with a few people here.” They take a breath, smile. “And I actually know the person in charge now. That’s a huge plus.” 

Valence pauses. They can’t sound like they hate this, this position they’ve been trusted to hold, not when the fliers Broun made are on the desk next to them. 

“I thought,” they start, “that maybe if the elections didn’t happen, if this place was just as corrupt as the rest of this planet...I thought I’d leave.” 

Broun‘s head tilts slightly, as if looking for a new angle. “Aren’t you into being here to...save the planet and all that?” 

“Not leave Partizan, just leave here. Leave this thing we’re building. And try to find a way to convince people of what’s coming somewhere else.” 

“But you’re _here_ now. You won,” Broun says, and there’s a tone of confusion in their voice, the kind of tone they have when they’re mumbling about finding the right wrench for a project. “So how are you going to convince them of that _here?_ Look, I know I told you not to talk about the whole...this _God thing_ while you were campaigning, but if that’s the goal, then how do you think you’ll get people to believe you?” 

Sometimes there are still nights when Valence is in that white void, with their God all around, and there has never been any doubt of anything in their life. 

“I could show them. I could- I could make them see what I saw, when God spoke to me. What I saw that convinced me this was happening.” 

Broun turns their whole body to face them, and leans forward. “That’s a thing you can do?” 

“It’s not what I _should_ do. Not when people are supposed to trust me in this position.” Valence finds themself with their hands in their lap, an awkward pose that surprises them with how naturally it comes. They can feel the ears on their mask folding back. “But I _could._ ” 

“Could you...look, I know I told you I don’t get this God stuff, but- could you show it to _me?”_

For a moment it is tempting to share everything with Broun. To share the burden. But it is the sort of tempting that is horrifying. 

“Broun, I...felt thousands of people die. People who were receiving God’s judgement. No, I can’t, I can’t do that to you.” 

“What...” There’s the hiss of the start of a nervous laugh under Broun’s breath, and then they stop, quiet themself. “You mean that,” they say, as if looking to be reassured.

“I do. I wouldn’t ever lie to you about something like that, Broun.” 

Another short pause. Broun gulps. There is something unsure on their face that is not quite a smile. 

“You’d be able to show that to everyone. People dying,” they say, “but you can’t _bear_ to do that to me.” 

“No,” Valence says, and it comes out easily, enough that they take no time to wrap their head around the implication. What _is_ the implication? That they think less of Broun than most people? That they think _more_ of them _?_

Maybe Broun themself doesn’t know, because they cover their face for a moment, moving their hands up until they come to rub at their forehead. 

“Fuck this,” they say. “Come on, you have to- you’ve been doing this for two weeks and you’re already thinking about giving apocalyptic _visions of death_ to everyone. I’m not letting you do this. You’re going to lie down and just chill.” 

Broun moves back on the cot until they’re on the far side. They pause for a moment, then wave a hand at the other end. It is only at this point that Valence processes what they are implying. 

“Wait, I- Broun, there’s barely going to be room there.” 

“Wh- no, it’s-“ Broun sighs. “I’m just going to stay for a second to make sure you actually lie down and leave. Okay?” 

This seems like a bad idea, Valence thinks. But Broun has an anxious look on their face that they’d like to soothe. Valence stands up and moves to the cot, where Broun huffs at their approach and lies down, face up, on the far side. 

“Come on,” they mumble. 

So Valence does, and lies down next to them, carefully. Fitting well on the cot would require them both lying on their side, but Broun is on their back, so Valence feels the need to match. One of their elbows is basically over the edge, and it takes thought to prevent the other from jabbing into Broun. 

“...So,” they say, after a minute. “You just- want me to rest?” 

Broun’s eyes have been closed, but they open at Valence’s voice, and Broun looks over. “Don’t you meditate or something? I’ve seen you do it.”

“Broun, when I meditate, I’m...meditating on God. Which is-“

“Exactly what I told you not to think about. The world ending and everything, right.” Broun sighs and looks back up. “Okay. What do you think about when you want to calm down?” 

Being _calm._ Valence thinks back, and finds the last few months lacking. “I...don’t remember the last time I was completely calm. Not since before we came here.” 

“What? Valence, you’re calm. You’re not somebody who’s freaking out all the time.” 

“No, I...” It feels wrong to admit this, in the position they’re in now, but Gur has been tired, distant, and Broun is the only one else they’d trust to tell. “I’m still scared. Like I told you, before we came here. I haven’t stopped being scared.” 

There is a long moment of silence. They know, sometimes, when they’re speaking in their minds, that Broun fills the void with forced chit-chat, and suddenly Valence can relate. 

They turn away from the ceiling and find Broun looking at them. There is a genuine nervousness, tenderness, on their face. That was too far, Valence thinks. 

Broun looks away the second their eyes meet. 

“I still don’t get what this has to do with my ship,” they force out, quietly. 

There is an image in Valence’s mind, a comforting one, of Broun with their hands on the controls of a ship, relaxed and happy, away from here. 

“If you left- _when_ you leave,” Valence responds, and tries to make their tone sound sure. “I guess you’ll...be safer. If Partizan is where everything starts. And I think it is.”

Valence’s mind stays on the image. It is an easier thing to think of than to think of the real Broun, next to them, still on Partizan. This is why it takes them a moment to feel Broun shift, to feel their shirt rub against Valence’s cloak, their head move slightly closer. 

“Fine. Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t want to deal with that,” they say. They take a deep breath. “ _You_ tell me about the ship, then.” 

Valence feels the impulse to look over, but their heads might be too close now. “What? Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re- you’re _getting_ it. You come up with something.” 

Valence wants to protest. It’s Broun’s ship; it should be something they feel comfortable in. But there is a centralizing moment where they can picture rockets and a cockpit, and they feel the appeal of the exercise. 

“...You don’t like how cramped it is in the lighthouse, so you need a bigger part of the ship for sleeping in. So it shouldn’t be too small. And you’d want armor on it, right? You like having everything armored, and it’d be good for the ship to be armored anyway. It’ll have armored plating. It could match the Three Cheers.” 

They go on like that, for a few minutes. It is simple for the image to click in their mind: shapes made to contradict the ones Broun hates at the SBBR base, ceilings high enough for Thisbe, buttons and levers that don’t stick. They want to be able to picture Broun in it, and they’re trying; Broun asleep on a better cot than this, repairing bits of the interior, the look of joy on their face the first time they see it. Valence keeps going, and they only trail off when they think of how briefly they themself will see it, before Broun hops in and flees, forever. 

_Would you like that?,_ Valence asks. The question is mental on impulse but it feels right, to keep this to only themselves. 

There is no response. Valence moves slightly, trying to be careful, because it occurs to them they already know the reason why. Broun is asleep. They are leaning slightly on their side and their braids have mostly fallen out, hair ties stuck in at what now look like random intervals. Their forehead touches, very slightly, against Valence’s shoulder. 

I want to do their hair, Valence thinks, and for a moment there is a pang of worry that Broun heard the thought. Broun says nothing; they take a shuddering breath. 

It would hurt to wake them, Valence thinks. They must be so tired. We’re all so tired. 

So Valence keeps going, building the ship for themself. Picturing the way the front curves- the aerodynamics Broun is always going on about. Red paint to match Broun’s mech. A workspace big enough to keep the equipment Broun always has to stuff into other rooms, and a system perfectly turned for a quick escape. And the view from the cockpit, the one Valence won’t get to see, that Broun can look up and study whenever they’d like, the stars unrecognizable. 


End file.
